


Never Break The Chain

by LittleRedRidingCat



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A Midwesterner's Take on Southern Gothic, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flashbacks, Kylo Breaches Rey's Mind - It's Intense, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Mentions of sexual violence, Mind the Tags, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2020-11-22 21:56:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRedRidingCat/pseuds/LittleRedRidingCat
Summary: Rey has never heard of Chandrila, but that doesn't keep her from getting stuck inside the city limits. It doesn't keep a strange man who claims to knows Rey from bending her to his will. In the shadow of the Appalachian Mountains, unspeakable things can happen. After all, this is a place where the past cannot die.





	1. Discomfortable

Oh, your love keeps me in chains  
Just like the river I come back again  
Oh your fear keeps me right here  
You'll be the arrow, the arrow…

\- Arrow by Rag’n’Bone Man 

The turn of a key in a lock.  
Rusty and halting, but still in working order. 

That was the sound of it, but the feel reverberated drum-like in his ears.  
Things went a little fuzzy, then. There was a slight crack that turned into a shatter and he knew. 

Kylo stiffened in the chair where he’d been arranging fine white lines on a flat surface of mirror glass.  
This – the white lines, the burn in his nose, the pulse of his veins - it was a familiar reoccurrence. 

Both art and habit.

The last few days had been as dank as they’d been awful, and the heat sealed itself around the skin like leeches. 

One of the little rebel factions in town decided to rile things up by making a witch’s bottle and burying it out behind The Order’s manor house, which everyone in Chandrila called Defiance, even though Kylo wasn’t sure why.  
But witches’ bottles…  
Such things were meant to ward off magic users, and this one had been constructed with…an extra kick. 

The bottle itself was hidden in a shallow hand-dug split of earth, half under a chunk of limestone. It had been buried just a hair over the side of the property line. This didn’t surprise Kylo one bit; only cowards and fools came onto the land, but not for too long and not too far into the yard if it could be helped. 

The underside of the unassuming rock hid a bevy of centipedes and moldering earth full of leafy decay. When it was finally overturned, Bazine had covered her mouth with a slender shaking wrist, gagging at the smell. She’d been wearing a veil at the time that made her look like she was in mourning…and that had made sense, considering. 

Because…the bottle. The kick.

It must have been fixed to the property a day or two before their symptoms started. 

The first 24 hours or so passed without any of them noticing much of anything except a slight tenderness and itching of the skin. This was confirmed and discussed amongst themselves, but they'd dismissed it as something in the air. God knows that high summer in the heat - festering and boiling everything it touched - meant all sorts of blooming ripe and ruin hovering among them in the stagnant fumes of whatever rose up from rivers, hollars, and the very mud under their shoes. 

But within the next day that “something” had caused everyone’s limbs and appendages to start blackening with age. 

Kylo had to admit, it’d thrown him.  
It was the strongest kind of granny magic he’d seen in years. The perpetrators’ points of argument were damn clear, what with everyone starting to rot where they stood. The stench was the worst part– something cloying and sticky thick in the nostrils combined with a sweet sharpness.

Hux ordered in lilies by the dozens so that everyone could coexist during what the pallid ginger called “the discomfortable trial.”

They’d been able to locate the fucking bottle, stuffed with nails, sharp stones, and piss.  
As soon as it was destroyed, everyone began to heal…more or less.  
That was a mercy; Hux was dramatic at even the best of times and, sweet Jesus, Kylo hated the whining. It started reedy thin, and then would shrivel into a nasal snarl.  
When the gangly ginger worked himself up, he waved his long pale limbs back and forth like a possessed windmill and carried on something awful. The shrillness of it lifted into the vaulted ceilings of the house and made everything feel frantic. It gave people within earshot a headache, ‘cept for Snoke. 

This time, he howled about how they’d all better hurry to get the job done because his nose had begun to turn like a banana and was likely to fall off at any moment.  
He was mean, but also intolerably vain. Kylo’d watched him for years, never able to understand why his master saw any use for someone like Armitage Hux. 

Strong though it was, the assault on the occupants of the manor house wasn’t anything much in grand scheme of things.  
There were always so many attacks – curses, arson, and, yes, the occasional witch bottle - that everyone had simply lost count.  
However, battles and bottles didn’t win wars, and he’d won the war for now. 

All rebel scum and usurpers who would come against The Order had to be dealt with swiftly. This time was no exception. 

Kylo’d been able to whittle down potential assailants readily, cross-referencing habits of townsfolk and the information he’d gleaned from shaking, frightened fools threatened within an inch of their senses. There weren’t may who’d left The Order or stood in opposition to Snoke and lived to tell about it. There would be one less by week's end.  
After decades of observation, it wasn’t hard to hunt down townspeople and interrogate them handily. And he didn’t wonder at the fright people felt when he came for them. He was formidable enough on his own under regular circumstances. He’d been frighteningly tall a hundred years ago – only startlingly so now. He covered himself in black from head to toe. The only glint of anything on his person was a silver chain to the pocket watch he carried in inside his suit jacket or vest, depending on the season.  
When out of doors, he wore his customary black gambler hat and it made him even taller. Kylo looked more undertaker than enforcer. In truth, he was both.  
And now? Well, he fancied himself terrifying as a half-rotted corpse. 

Finally, he took Wexley Dower into custody by force, dawn-of-the-day early.  
Not because Kylo was convinced that the boy had planted the bottle, but because someone…anyone needed to answer for what had happened, and the Dower boy had probably known about it, at the very least. 

This was a message. It was meant to hurt. 

The man begged to be killed on the spot.  
He cried in harsh little gasps that racked his body as he shook, certain of what would happen if he entered Defiance. 

Kylo had rolled his eyes, then kicked Wexley hard in the lower back before dragging the boy to the house and down to the cellars. As Snoke and other members of The Order looked on, Kylo'd rotted Wexley’s body while the boy screamed, trapped in his own decaying flesh.  
Kylo meted out punishment, and it was also Kylo that finally killed the Dower boy once his suffering was deemed sufficient.

Wexley was actually one of the lucky ones.  
He’d been given mercy; his master could’ve easily ordered otherwise. Keeping such wretched creatures living was a messy business. Kylo had seen more than one troublemaker sentenced to interminable torment, their souls trapped and never resting. Best to not deal with screaming from another voice in the large stone sepulcher beneath the house – which was already filled to the brim. 

Gurgles and wails often crept into his rooms through the walls and up through the floorboards. It was distracting. Sometimes he’d stomp hard on the floor and scream back.

Once his work with the Dower boy was finished, Kylo had retreated to his study. With a sigh, he removed his black gloves, finally letting a leather office chair hold the entirety of his sagging weight. After a moment of quiet, he’d reached for the box of cocaine on top of a wooden letter drawer next to the emeralite banker’s lamp.

The stains and remnants of Wexley could be disposed of later.  
They’d keep, and Snoke wouldn’t care.  
He needed stillness.

But then…there had been the click, snap, and creaking of the old trap springing to life. 

Cocking his head to one side, Kylo moved a long piece of dark hair from in front of his ears and tried to listen to the world for a clue.  
All he knew was what he felt.  
Shock, then something that touched his blood and made him electric.  
He commanded himself to be still - to think.  
It was an accomplishment in self-control to be proud of, considering the bump he’d just taken, his eyes still brimming from the familiar sting. 

He became a storm, then - trapped in the confines of large bones and muscle tempered like steel, and big man that he was, it was enough to scare even himself.  
So he pushed outward with noise and force, and somewhere in the distance the thunder rose up from the hills, echoing around every dark corner and backroad near the town. 

When the wind shifted and the sheets of rain came pouring down, Leia knew it was too late.  
All the signs were aligned.  
At approximately six in the evening on a summer Wednesday in July – while she was having a brief meditation - a kind of invisible vine came up through the earth somewhere nearby and began moving in lazy circles around the town.  
It was strong and winding – felt like it had been propagated for months by a proper southern woman with gloves and a sunhat. Bebe the cat, dead for thirty-two years now, weaved between Leia’s ankles and hissed at the arrival of discord in the air. He batted at whatever he could see in front of his face, then faded into the background until Leia couldn’t tell if he was still there or not.  
She didn’t blame him, wishing desperately that she could follow suit.  
It seemed easier to be dead in moments like these. 

Whatever it was that had shifted everything, it was ready to blossom and bear something grotesque.  
It was ripe.  
Leia shook one of the malingering roots away from her foot, and she couldn’t help the irritated snarls that let loose from her guts.  
It served her right for being caught off guard. 

Keeping watch and trying to find meaning in the smallest signs year after year – the patterns of breaking eggshells, the shape of moss growing in the family graveyard, the skeletons in owl pellets – had made her tired.  
So when she’d woke with a start in the dim, blue light of 5 a.m. earlier that day - when she’d felt the old electricity in her muscle membranes and skin, she had dismissed it as a memory of bodily complaint.  
Rheumatism or vapors caused by heat. 

She hadn’t been young when her boy had trapped them all. With each passing year her memories regarding the natural parameters of time and space eroded like the edges of stones dropped and tumbled in a river.  
Clocks hung by the dozens in her home.  
Seven separate calendars hung on various walls.  
It was something to keep track of what one could.  
She still marked the days and hours because she still cared, dammit.  
She wasn’t lost and hopeless.  
Knowing exactly how her body was aging, or how quickly it was not didn’t interest Leia.  
But if she’d been more like her brother, it might’ve.  
She might’ve known what was coming. 

Luke was more scientist than she. 

Truth be told, it was her potions, tea, and advice that provided an income – not that they needed much of one. She was the Iron Witch, after all. One of the last survivors of the old Nabarrie line. Her family’s house had been paid off decades ago, and a trust kept them comfortable. Still, it was nice to have a little rag cash around the place.  
Leia had a steady list of clients stretching back to the old days, and a constant flow of new faces regularly knocking at her door. Of course, most people who came looking for her were kids from the local high school. They came with their questions about whomever they wanted or who they hoped would want them back.  
They came for charms to reveal their cheating boyfriends, and they came for spells to make the feet of their least favorite teachers swell with boils.  
She’d help them with the first, but not the second. The little idiots had no idea what bad magic could do, and Leia never wanted them to find out.  
They came day after day – but not on Sundays, which Leia kept free for church and holy things.  
It said so on a wooden sign customarily hung on the door, plain as milk.

OPEN ALL DAYS  
10 TO 5  
EXCEPT FOR SUNDAY,  
WHICH IS SACRED

All her life, Leia had given careful regard to the Unseen, and the Unseen returned her attentions with the precision of good intuition.  
Luke, bless him, was all full to bursting with stars and numbers.  
He worked the smaller conjurations that kept the old house in line. Their fence hadn’t needed a fresh coat of paint in decades. Plumbing, it turns out, is a language that someone with the right ear can surmise through the clanking and wooshing of copper against water.  
He liked the concreteness of pragmatism.  
Leia appreciated it, and it had become a small luxury to have him around. But his talents didn’t come into what she could already do.  
For example, she hadn’t needed anyone to tell her how to mix her garden tea in preparation for what was coming.  
She hadn’t needed someone to tell her what optimal temperature to drink the coppery liquid at, or when to add the Knob Creek and honeycomb to help her along and calm her nerves.

Just as Leia finished her drink, a weird wet something unlocked itself, saturating the soffits and walls of the house. It smelled like rot and sat heavy in her stomach. The change was immediate, and her hands pricked for lack of using mudras. Her voice cracked at the lack of speaking spells for safety. From the hill where Defiance stood, Leia could hear her boy's screams. They carried over the sound of thunder.  
Barely breathing, she looked down at the bottom of her cup.  
The air tightened vicelike around the entirety of the world, and a cross plainly stood out on the bone white china.  
Leia instinctively knew that there was a new occupant in Kylo’s cage.  
“Shit,” she muttered, right before heading to the kitchen for more whiskey.


	2. Moth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had come back.  
And he was waiting.  
She’d made a bargain with him.  
She had promises to keep.

None of the local radio stations had reported rain, and she hadn’t gotten a weather alert on her phone. 

In fact, the sun had been relentless since Illinois. There was nothing but miles of roadwork, and it had thoroughly killed her enthusiasm.  
So had sitting in her car having to pee for two hours in the traffic jam caused by said roadwork.  
So had the slimy bathroom in an off-road Sinclair station that had given her the urge to swim in a bathtub full of hand sanitizer. 

For some reason, Rey thought her road trip would be more “Going Up the Country” and less “Highway to Hell.” At least Rose would be at the end of it all in St. Augustine. She was only three or four days from the Floridian sun. She’d decided to rest for a couple of nights in a cute little town called Chandrila. Everything she’d read about it on the internet made it sound worthwhile.  
It was what a person expected an old Southern town to be like.  
Even though she’d never been to this part of the country.  
And even though everything she knew about the south came from movies like Steel Magnolias. Unless she was greeted at the Mason-Dixon line by Dolly Parton, she’d have no idea what to expect. So far, there were an impressive number of green rolling hills and trees that lined the highways. Rey had never seen so much green in her whole life – didn’t know it was possible. There had only been the dusty dry plains of Nebraska, and then the deserts of New Mexico once she’d gone to college. 

The websites Rey had found depicted old houses and graveyards that had become historic markers, and there was a city café, battlefield – all the expected points of interest. She usually wasn’t that into history, but there was something idyllic about the place. 

One of the most exciting part of her road trip pre-Florida was the promise of a few nights in a beautiful Air B&B that had boasted a private suite, complete with four poster bed and a complimentary breakfast. Her stomach grumbled at the thought of what she thought people in the south might eat. Truth be told, she didn’t know. 

She’d actually be able to daytrip out to larger cities – maybe get to a live show and drink some local beer. But if life had taught her anything it was that great expectations lead to a shit time.  
As soon as the old white ‘87 Volvo wagon rattled into the town, thunder pounded into her wake. Black clouds blotted out light and color covering the sky like an angry swarm. Wind whipped the back of her old wagon from side to side, and it felt for a moment like she’d come to the edge of the world. The sun had already dipped part way below the horizon, so what little light there was filtered down through the tree branches. Low timpani rumbled up through the pavement and into the steel sides of the car. 

Black curving streetlamps next to the road blinked in lazy contrast.  
After driving for what seemed like years, Rey found herself in a small-town square. A large brick courthouse with a domed clocktower sprang up from a grassy yard filled with benches and what looked like trees filled with big white blooms quickly being torn apart by strong wind.  
She couldn’t help but notice the statue of what she supposed was an old statesman glaring down on the street below him. Rey down-shifted the car, slowing to a crawl.  
GPS had dropped out when she’d entered the city limits because, of course it had; watching for street signs in half-darkness and rain would have to do.  
She swore furiously the whole time.  
“Of fucking course,” she muttered over and over. The humidity and her failing air conditioner only made her angrier and it muted nerves that the sudden storm gave her; for the first time, Rey understood why people always bemoaned summertime in this corner of the world. Ever since Kentucky, she’d felt like she was treading her way through tepid bathwater. 

Strands of brown hair stuck to her skin, unraveling themselves from the tight bun she’d had it gathered in at the beginning of the day’s drive. Rey could feel sweat pooling under the creases of her knees and dripping down her backside where her skin met a wooden beaded seat cover. She felt ripe with stench – her deodorant had worn off long ago, and she could smell stale air hanging around her body. Her blue tank top and jean shorts felt as if they’d fused with her limbs. 

Road grime was bad, but road grime in the heat was worse. 

She followed the line of neat brick around what the phone’s map marked as an old city courthouse. From there, she turned into something that resembled a pavement maze. Squinting at the dim glow of her phone’s screen and trying to mind the torrents of rain, she repeated the correct address to herself out loud, and continued her way through the winding side streets of the town.  
There was no grid system here. She’d been told the streets and roads of southern states were all built on top of old trails and footpaths. During her research, she’d read several warnings about how grids were sorely lacking out this way, and it would be a pain in the ass to find anything.

Finally, Rey saw the magical numbers fixed to an old black mailbox and pulled into the driveway of a three-story brick building with a wrap-around porch. She’d sent a message through the app to her hostess about her arrival, but the house itself looked dark. She stared upwards at all three stories, wondering which room she’d be in. Not a bad deal for $80 and a place to call home for a couple of nights. 

One yellow light shone through a big double window facing the street, and for a minute she felt hopeful but quickly glowered at the realization that she’d have to tromp through the rain to get to the house. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear wind chimes being slammed with raging storm wind. 

Rey took a deep breath before leaving the safety of her car.  
There wasn’t an umbrella in the backseat because she hadn’t been expecting a cloudburst.  
“Maybe the rain will wash off some stench,” she thought to herself before swinging open the car door and running towards the bright light like mad.  
Rey knocked three times before a short little woman with a braid of silver wrapped in loops around her head came to the door. There was an orange and white cat perched on the woman’s small shoulders, and she would’ve laughed except for the woman’s wide eyes and gaping mouth. 

Puzzled, she opened her own mouth and tried for a smile. Both women stood there for a beat – just long enough to make things awkward.  
“Hi,” she started, plastering what she hoped passed for a charming grin across her face.  
“I’m Rey -”  
Silence.  
She cleared her throat and stared uneasily into her hostess’ eyes.  
“Nope,” the woman announced suddenly.  
Then the door slammed, nearly taking Rey’s nose off.  
She dropped her jaw, standing still as rain and wind provided background noise to her shock, then Rey began pounding on the red painted wood - hard.  
“Hey! It’s been a long-ass day, and it sucks ass out here!”  
After a long moment of continual knocking and swearing, the door creaked open with more than a little hesitation. Rey gulped, and peered into half-darkness past the entryway. Just beyond the threshold, the same woman peered back, all large eyes in a lovely, graying face regarding Rey with trepidation.  
“Well, you’re simply charming, aren’t you? Curse all the universal forces that sent you back.”  
“What?” Rey’s face tensed.  
The little woman’s phrasing had a slight lilt, and a cadence unfamiliar to her ears. It took a moment for the rhythm to settle.  
The woman folded her arms, finally shaking her head with a sigh.  
“You best come in quick. I’ve got calls to make.” 

Confused, Rey followed the disappearing form of whom she supposed with her hostess. Somewhere beyond them both, the rain fell harder. 

“I…I think I booked a place to stay here? One bedroom with an attached full bath – “  
“Yes, yes. With a large window and the small balcony. I’m aware. I wrote the listing myself. You know, until now I never thought that making a little money would cause this much trouble.”  
The orange and white cat that had been curled around the woman’s shoulders now peeked up from between her bare feet, mewing weakly up at Rey. 

She gulped, trying to keep up with the older woman as she made a circuitous trek through a long hallway and into something that resembled a living room. What the hell was she talking about?  
“Ma’am, I’m sorry,”  
“Leia.”  
“What?”  
“My name is Leia.”  
The woman made a nearly indignant noise in the back of her throat.  
“You’d do well to remember that,” she added.  
Rey stopped in her tracks, swallowed hard, tamping down her nerves.  
“Look, I’m sorry if you weren’t expecting me, but I’m pretty sure that I got the dates for my rental correct.”  
“Yes. Yes, you did. And you’re here. And now I have people to notify.”  
“You said th-…wait, what?”

*******

People’d described Kylo in terms of great proportions as soon as he’d reached maturity, but when he looked in the mirror now, it was as if he could see the thinning of his soul. To himself, he looked like a stretched shadow losing substance by the day; trying to break through the boundary of meat and skin was futile. 

However, this moment had him damn near ascension. 

The hair on his arms and neck stood on end and everything - everything present and past sped through his brain. Thoughts, usually muddled and unclear like bad water, were even less clear and coherent. There was nothing except the smashing of glass around his knuckles when he stood, turned abruptly, and put them through the window in his study. As if on cue, the rise of shrieks and voices immediately assaulted him from below.  
He groaned, and the sound mingled with the chorus underneath his feet. 

Twitching brown eyes finally landed on the corner of his writing desk.  
In an old Ball Mason jar tinged blue, a white moth began to flutter and shake, loosing the dust from its brittle wings.  
Kylo always had the jar near him, but it wasn’t till now that there’d been any signs of life.  
His breath caught, and he couldn’t swallow.  
His hands – his hands that he hardly trusted with delicate things – shook as they lifted the jar off the desk and ran thick fingers over the slick surface of glass. He heard himself make a choking sound that came from the back of his throat. 

The vibration of the moth ricocheted between the cylindric walls.

It was caught – just like his girl.  
He couldn’t help but grin. 

Kylo had set the trap long ago; the making of snares writ in blood and age were always borne from terrible things. He was strong and skillful – that much he’d been sure of for a long time; no one from the beginning had ever been able to leave and that’s how the board was set.  
Now, she’d have to stay too. 

Lines of power and portents unreadable to most – they recognized the signature of his girl, and the whole thing had collapsed in on her like a net laid over a hole in the earth, weighing her down and holding her fast to the very place they had begun.  
No river way or hunting trail would help her.  
The forests would grow knarled brambles if she tried to escape.  
The roads would all lead her back as they already had, although what force from the universe had caused it was beyond him.  
He’d lit the candle hoping that the flame would be enough to draw her home.  
Perhaps it had been, or perhaps it had been simple chance.  
No matter the reasons, the barriers were thick with rage and grew sturdy over long years.  
There was no respite, he’d made sure of that.  
She deserved everything that was coming, and that was as it should be.  
He had been in such pain for so long...and now he could take whatever he wanted. 

He’d frozen them all, preserving the townsfolk in thick sheets of time wrapping around people and places until it was an impenetrable boundary.  
For all of them, days and hours became meaningless, piling high like the stacks of day planners and timepieces he kept on a shelf next to the Victrola model radio. He purchased the thing forty years into his – the town’s – exile. 

Kylo’s hope was that it would connect him to the world. 

The numbering of months and years intertwined and wound together until there was no separation - until everything was just a waking dream. He’d slept behind open eyes, wandering and filling his days with whatever could distract him.  
Of course, Snoke found plenty of uses for him.

“I can’t let you get idle, my boy,” his master said.  
“Let your pain and your rage be your strength.”

And he had. Kylo always had. There were established sides and a territory to defend. There were people who didn’t pay proper tribute and had to be kept in line. He had a history of violent hands, and in Snoke’s service, they were bloody too. 

Ah, and to dull his senses…  
There had been the substances of each era to occupy him, and when those stopped working, there were always plenty of bodies to use and quit. It had started with the Opium, and in the dank dens in a part of town everyone called The Bottoms, he’d used the yellow smoke to wrap himself in the reality he wanted. In the lower levels of the town – in small shacks lining the undrained ditches and dirt pathways – he’d found solace in a personal Xanadu.  
However, he’d also dreamed of her and it made him uneasy.

So then he began with the whores in the dens, the bars, the cat houses. 

They all paid because they weren’t her.  
Because she refused to be here with him, he made them suffer.  
Kylo knew that causing them pain would hurt her the most.  
He’d be sure to tell her about each and every one. 

In the old days, connectivity of time had been important to him. He’d kept a tally of the days, weeks, years – that’s what the calendars had originally been for. There had been wars – other wars that dwarfed what they had all called the War of Northern Aggression. The written ravings of Jules Verne had been realized and a person could go to the bottom of the ocean as well as the top of the horizon line and beyond. The entire world was now a pathway of wires and metal and screens; millions had lived and died. Diseases that used to wipe out entire families had been overcome – though it was no consequence to him.  
He was still here and would always be. 

Unless…unless. 

People flitted in and out and in and out of Chandrila. No one who moved to the place after Kylo had set his trap was kept from coming or going, living or dying. The town had started out so small - at the foot of the smokies, under the shadow of forests and hills, but it had grown – quadrupled in size.

It had been the site of several battles during the war, but now there were only graveyards and museums to mark those events. People tried not to pay too much attention to the ghosts that dotted the landscapes up on the hills or around the brick courthouse in the square. Yes, there’d been a skirmish there, too.  
Come to think of it, he’d never known the town-now-city to ever be a particularly peaceful place. 

Thanks to the manufacturing plants and the college on the west side of town, the place was now a regular beacon of civilization. It attracted enough people to keep money coming in…but the dissonance was odd. The new town had been built over old Chandrila like paint being layered over rotting wallpaper. Everything underneath was falling to bits, and it would probably take down what was clean and good with it. 

That didn’t matter. It was all his anyway.  
The only person Kylo had wanted for a hundred years or more – the only face he wanted to see - was not there amid all those people and new buildings. He could sometimes see her face if he squinted in the right spots all over the old town, but it wasn’t enough. 

Generations had passed, and he occupied himself on a damn merry-go-round of his own making. Cursed as he was, he didn’t have it in him to darken a church door or think of repentance. Besides, if he understood the preachers and holy rollers right, that would only lead to eternal life.

After a taste of it – and after knowing what became of those who were denied death - he had to wonder why the fuck anyone would want such a thing. 

It all made him mad. Put a pit in his stomach with every ephemeral decade that blew into his path. Inevitably, every trinket from the various eras lost value and became the trappings found in the corners of junk shops and rubbish heaps. 

But.  
She had come back.  
And he was waiting.  
She’d made a bargain with him.  
She had promises to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The one silver lining in this whole Rise of Skywalker mess?  
I feel good about starting this up again - because if J.J. has the balls to keep making films, I can keep going just to spite the bastard.


	3. Howling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia learns once again that you don't have to go looking for trouble.  
The Devil always finds his way back to your door, especially when the Devil is your son.
> 
> Then Rey meets a darkness, and finds herself in trouble not once, but twice in the same day.
> 
> “I could force my way in. I could strangle the life out of you.”
> 
> “Noooo,” Leia answered slowly, with an ironic lilt – and after all, there was no need to rush.
> 
> “No, you want to - but you won’t. You’re strong. It’s true, and don’t we all know it. But, dammit, I gave birth to you, Benjamin - or whatever the hell you call yourself now. It makes no difference to me. Yes, my boy’s still in there somewhere, but Kylo Ren can’t come in, and he absolutely cannot have her.”
> 
> Howling by Wild Rivers
> 
> All day we wait  
Just to go back to the places that we know  
Light grey, day breaks  
Over my head and pouring down my throat
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9KlZCXiSt5w

Leia had no sooner led her to the house parlor before flitting away, leaving Rey to stare into various corners of the large living room she was in. The first thing she noticed were several tick-tick-ticking clocks on the wall beside her; two wooden cuckoos with swinging pendulums and one plain old wall clock without any frills at all.  
Was this a collection? Or was the woman just…fucking weird? 

With a sound in the back of her throat, Rey decided that she already kind of knew the answer to that question.  
She turned a half-circle in the dim light filtering in through the large windows on either side of an ornate fireplace and green marble grate with a woman draped in a flowing kind of toga dress carved out of the stone. The hearth was encased in white brick, and the wall around it was finished in a rich gold and forest green brocade wall covering. Was it wallpaper? Rey certainly didn’t know, but if it was it was the nicest wallpaper that she’d ever seen. 

Large pieces of furniture lay arranged on the wooden floor on top of magnificent Isfahan rugs, and it occurred to Rey as she stood in the middle of the room that she could forget what day or year it was in such a place.  
Everything smelled like…what was that smell? She’d encountered it before – maybe in basements? No, maybe…museums.  
Whatever it was, it made her stomach turn a little. 

She heard Leia’s voice from somewhere beyond the hallway, speaking urgently on what she assumed was the phone. She didn’t listen too intently to the conversation happening in the background.  
What bits and pieces she did manage to overhear were curious, though. 

“…looks exactly the same…happening again…”

Rey determined that Leia hadn’t had a great experience with renting out her space.  
The older woman’s reaction to a new guest was...unsettling.  
And then, there was for the second time that day, a pounding at the front door of the house.  
The noise hammered Rey’s ears, and she was almost certain that her earlier capabilities had causes a clamor whereas this knocking – this booming - sounded like the loosing of someone’s hell.  
Rey’s heart stuttered. Leia rounded the corner again as a streak of lightening cut through the shadows gathering at her feet. 

“Go! Up the stairs to the room directly on the right! Lock the door, and no matter what you hear, don’t you dare come out!”  
Too frightened to argue, Rey followed where Leia’s hand had gestured, and found an enormous swerving flight of stairs straining upwards. 

She’d never moved faster.

A deep, quick thudding in Leia’s ears drowned out all other sounds for a moment. It was necessary to bring herself back, and so she tried to think of the wood under her feet. She thought of the strength of her walls, and the wards built into the foundation of her house. Leia thought of her grocery list and her favorite ways to clean the scales off a fish, evoking the ordinary to deaden terror, then forced breath into her lungs before opening the heavy door. 

She hoped to all that was good that the Unseen would keep her upright and that her brother would be home soon.  
Surely they’d felt it. Surely they’d all felt it. 

Leia stood silently looking into the space between threshold and darkness beyond her. Eventually, she could make out the hulking visage of a large man. Someone passing by would have mistaken him for an urban legend waiting to happen, but Leia knew better. 

“Hello, Benjamin.”

Something like a low, feral growl met her voice; the sound resonated until it turned into words.

“That’s not my name. Not anymore.”  
Leia closed her eyes momentarily, choking down a response.  
So it was to be this way, then. Tonight, as with many nights and years preceding this one, she was dealing with Kylo Ren.  
She stepped well away from the line between the beginning of her floorboards and the edge of her porch. 

“You know I can’t do that.”  
She could nearly hear the sound of his hands clenching into fists. 

“I could force my way in. I could strangle the life out of you.”

“Noooo,” Leia answered slowly, with an ironic lilt – and after all, there was no need to rush. 

“No, you want to - but you won’t. You’re strong. It’s true, and don’t we all know it. But, dammit, I gave birth to you, Benjamin - or whatever the hell you call yourself now. It makes no difference to me. Yes, my boy’s still in there somewhere, but Kylo Ren can’t come in, and he absolutely cannot have her.” 

There were a few beats of silence before a great groaning around them rose and lifted itself into energy that slammed itself against Leia and the house. It was a wave, and the little silver woman had to brace herself against the doorframe.  
Christ, she should’ve had more whiskey. Her boy always did know how to throw a tantrum. 

“I hope you wear yourself out and sleep for a decade,” she muttered, more to herself than the hulking mass of darkness directly in front of her.  
Inhuman sounds – things never meant to be heard above the ground – came unbidden, then. So did an icy gripping of her being that began to suck slowly away at her. Whispers and shadows surrounded her with the same words repeated thousands and millions of ways.

Let. Me. In.  
Letmeinletmeinletmein…

Leia snapped her jaw tight, gritting her teeth. Even as she began seeing spots of darkness, she resisted crying.  
Damned if he’d see her cry. 

There’d been too much of that already. 

Pain.  
Only pain.  
After she’d gotten into the bedroom at the top of the staircase, Rey had made her way to the window, straining to hear who was at the front door. The exchange was chilling – and that was enough to make her afraid, but then the noises had started to rise up from below her wet feet, and they’d crawled into her ears, blooming in her temples and in her brain until there was no light or sense remaining.  
Only the pain.

Her hands gripped her ears, but the sound didn’t stop.  
She could see pulsing spots behind her eyelids; she wanted it to stop.  
She’d do anything if she could just make it stop.  
She keened like a dog and hated how quickly the tears came. But in a few moments, there was quiet again. The only thing left was the tapping of rain on her window. A momentary relief settled into her, but then she wasn’t alone anymore. 

“There you are.”  
Her head lifted towards a deep, unfamiliar voice. It sounded hollow – or maybe only tired.  
In the half-light, she could see a tall man with angular features and dark hair staring down at her floor-sprawled figure.  
Unable to process in the moment, she screamed and tried to scramble to her feet. 

Eyes that looked like onyx glimmered back at her; it was like staring into the face of a predatory bird – there was nothing in his countenance except cool regard and the trace of a smile that might have been mistaken for something gentle once.  
He held a hand over her, and sickening waves of…something…hit.  
She was immobile; her veins and skin burned.  
Flashes of memory raged in quick succession underneath her shifting eyelids and it felt like someone was plowing into her from the outside. The invasion was more than she could bare.  
Her body felt like a raw nerve being split. 

“Hush, sweetheart. This works better if you don’t fight. Your misbehavin’ and tryin’ to keep me out isn’t very nice.”  
Rey groaned, and attempted to lift herself off the floor long enough to look at the man again. Half distracted by agony, she thought to wonder how her assailant was managing this attack. The thought was fucking absurd, but her body told her something very real was causing damage.

He was – long. Long angular cheekbones, long nose, long hair that reached halfway down his neck. And his hand…one of his hands looked injured – was dripping blood.  
She felt the man kneel next to her, and the same massive bone-thin hand splayed itself out across her lower back. Rey felt it stick to her tank top and the air around them smelled metallic. She flinched at the touch, forcing back the urge to retch. Instead, Rey managed to throw a rasping question into the air. 

“Who are you?”  
“Oh, you’ll remember soon,” the man responded lightly.  
“With a little bit of help.”  
“Nobody needs your help, Ben.”

A new voice emerged from the surrounding din.  
When was all this entering and exiting happening? How had she missed it? 

There was a great light that was too bright to be lightening but the crack that followed might’ve been; it echoed through her, dispelling the pain and despair she felt.  
Rey barely noticed the shrieking above her from where her assailant had been. When it was over, there was no one next to her. Rey looked up into the concerned, stern face of an older man dressed in what looked like a worn linen suit, staring right back. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered

Rey’s mouth gaped open, and suddenly the effort of being was just too much.  
“Thank you,” she managed before blinking out like a dying bulb. 

When Rey came to, it was in the grand timeless room she’d been in before…before…  
She bolted upright at the thought, the sound of rain punctuating reality. 

“Easy there.”  
The lilting of a voice that seemed far away echoed. Rey winced. Everything ached. It was as if her head had been in a blender.  
The older man from before was sitting in a chair across the room. A little scruffy, but kind enough. Watery blue eyes watched her intently, and he held up his hands as if to try and still a frightened animal. His aging face was edged with a silvery beard that blended into salt-and-pepper hair. He had to be connected to –

“Leia, she’s awake!”  
There was rattling in the back of the house, and then the woman – who was now, she felt, much more than just her Air B&B hostess – entered the room holding a steaming mug.

“Welcome back to the world of the living,” she muttered.

“Drink this. It’ll help your head.” 

“I – fuck, I have to get out of here…” Rey lifted herself from where she’d been laying, immediately stumbling and falling backwards.  
Leia made a sympathetic sound in her throat then pressed the thick porcelain into her hand. 

“In bloody clothes? Oh, baby, no.”

“Rey. My name is Rey,” she quickly corrected her wearily. 

The older woman tilted her head to one side before continuing.

“I know you’re frightened, Rey. I don’t blame you one bit…but this is just some green tea. That’s all. On my honor. It’ll help bring you back around.”

“What was that? Who was that?”  
Rey’s hands shook as she reluctantly took the mug.

“That,” the man in the room responded, “was my naughty nephew.”  
For a moment, she skeptically considered what she’d just heard then took a long sip from the mug. It burned her tongue a bit, but the sensation helped her focus. 

“Who are you?”  
The man smiled and put his fingers to his chest as he bowed his head, pantomiming a slight bow. 

“I’m Luke. You’ve already met my sister.”  
She exhaled a little, letting some of the tension she held lose from her limbs. 

“Well, you need to call the cops, Luke. That guy – he’s….fucked up. He just busted in here and…acted like he knew me? He absolutely does not know me.”  
She caught a meaningful look between the two of them but didn’t let it stop her. 

“I mean, does he bother all of your guests like this? Because that can’t be good for your ratings.”  
Luke made a sound in the back of his throat.

“Not a word,” she said, pointing towards her brother, then she turned back to Rey. 

“We need to get you away from here,” Leia said while nodding matter-of-factly.

“I know someone who can give you a place to stay but.…it’s not safe for you in this house.”

“I don’t know if it’s good to let her leave,” Luke interjected.  
“We don’t know if she has time to get anywhere else. We don’t know how much I weakened him, or for how long!”

Leia hummed to herself, swallowing hard. 

“I say get while the gettin’ is good.”  
And it was at that point Rey decided she’d had enough. She didn't need to be told twice that it was best to "get while the getting was good." 

“Where are my car keys?”  
She’d set the mug down at her feet standing quickly without one wobble. Glancing down at a side table next to the chaise, she saw her keys thrown languidly down by the messenger bag she’d dropped in the living room before her descent up the staircase. 

Luke put out his hands, as if to stop her.  
“Rey, you’ve got to stay until we know we can keep you safe. You need to let us help you!”  
“I..I don't know who you people are or what the hell that was, but I’m leaving,” Rey barked, voice shaking. Adrenaline pumped through her, and she knew that if she didn't use that energy - the natural reflex for bolting - she'd never get back to her car. 

“Thank you for the tea, and the scare of my life. I’ll be getting the fuck out of here now.”  
With that, she slammed out of the house, back into darkness, and unrelenting rain. 

Rey’s hands shook as she started the engine and gripped the steering wheel. 

She could’ve called the cops herself, but it seemed like a bad idea. Cops had never helped her much. Not during her childhood when she’d been moved from one foster family to another. Not in college when she’d been in that barfight with Rose. And certainly not when she got pulled over for speeding, or reckless driving – whatever that meant.  
Sometimes, officers would let you off with a warning, and that was always lucky. She didn’t have any money to give the government. Sometimes, the officers would need a little more convincing and she hated them for that almost as much as she hated herself afterwards.  
It was like they knew – the bad ones always knew. 

Rey ignored the phone still in her passenger’s seat - the GPS wasn’t necessary. It wouldn’t be hard to find the main road back to the highway from the town square. Whatever had just happened was something Rey didn’t want any part of. Still grimy from her trip, the added scent of drying blood now permeated the inside of the Volvo. Once in the next town over, she’d need a long, hot shower.  
That would help. That was a step towards normalcy.  
There was little traffic to contend with, so she reached the city limits in what she was sure was record time. Rey laid into the gas pedal, gunning the engine as if to push herself squarely out of the town’s reach.

Instead of acceleration onto open highway, it was as if the Volvo hit a wall.  
Her car slammed into something solid and bounced off the barrier with force. Rey screamed as her car skidded into a deep ditch, her head smacking into the steering wheel with a dull thud.  
For the second time that day, there was nothing but all-consuming darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello again.  
Dissertation is wrapping up.  
The summer is high. The magnolias are blooming.  
Time to think about the uncanny and what doesn't live in the brightness around us.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my "I'm writing a dissertation and need a creative outlet" project.  
I'm finally posting it in celebration of spooky season.  
This story has been on my mind for a long time.  
I hope you like it.  
Kudos are nice, but comments are gold.


End file.
